By 1985, they were no longer coolies. They were Gunday . Bikram and Bala. The name was spat like a curse and whispered like a prayer. They controlled the coal, the illegal timber, and the desi liquor. Their rule was simple: “Mazdoor ko mazdoori milni chahiye, maalik ko apni jaan ki fikar karni chahiye.” (The worker gets his wage; the owner worries about his life.)
The film establishes its central theme immediately through the backstory of its protagonists, Bikram and Bala. As refugees fleeing the creation of Bangladesh in 1971, they survive genocide and starvation, emerging from a train carriage as the only survivors. This shared trauma serves as the bedrock of their relationship. In the early portions of the film, Zafar successfully convinces the audience that these two men are essentially one soul in two bodies. Their rise from gun-toting children to the "uncrowned kings of Kolkata’s coal mafia" is depicted not just as a criminal enterprise, but as a survival mechanism. The film uses the backdrop of Kolkata—captured with gritty yet romanticized cinematography—to mirror the characters' chaotic energy. At this stage, Gunday operates as a celebration of the "bromance," a genre staple in Bollywood, where loyalty supersedes the law. gunday
They arrived in Calcutta as ghosts—no papers, no past, no fear. They took the name of a city within a city: the Howrah coal yards. Bikram was the brain, lean and coiled like a spring, with a smile that promised a knife. Bala was the brawn, a slab of muscle and silence who only spoke with his fists. They started as coal-lifters, sleeping under tarps. Their first war was against a local extortionist named Khoka Bhai. Bikram planned it for three weeks. Bala executed it in thirty seconds—a single headbutt that shattered Khoka’s jaw. By 1985, they were no longer coolies
In conclusion, Gunday is a film of contradictions. It is a visual spectacle that attempts to marry the gravitas of historical drama with the flamboyance of commercial Bollywood cinema. While it stumbles in its historical accuracy and female character development, it succeeds as a tragedy of friendship. It paints a visceral portrait of two men who conquered a city but lost themselves in the process. Ultimately, the film stands as a testament to the idea that while the world may fear the "gunday," their most formidable enemy is often the silence that grows between friends. The name was spat like a curse and whispered like a prayer
Bala looked at the river. “I teach slum kids to box. You?”
Bikram fell in love with a cabaret dancer named Nandini, a woman with eyes like cracked mirrors. Bala, who never wanted anything, wanted only his brother’s happiness. But the city’s new police commissioner, Ashwin Vardhan, was a different breed—honest, arrogant, and armed with a new anti-gangster law.
The year was 1971. East Pakistan was bleeding, choking on its own smoke. In a refugee camp on the Indian border, two boys, barely ten years old, lost everything. Bikram’s father was shot trying to steal bread. Bala’s mother was trampled in a stampede for a water truck. They found each other over a half-rotted jackfruit, their eyes holding a fire older than their years. They didn’t cry. They made a promise, spitting into their palms and shaking on it: “Duniya humein gunda kahegi, Bala. Lekin hum sirf apne liye bhai banenge.” (The world will call us thugs. But we will only be brothers for ourselves.)